


Heart Like the Fourth of July

by bluewhitewings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Dean in Panties, Demonic Possession, Dubious Consent, Gay Sex, Graceless Castiel, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sam Knows, Semi AU, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluewhitewings/pseuds/bluewhitewings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It deals with a lot of Dean's internalized homophobia and shame, with demonic possession, with wheeling and dealing with demons that are way out of your league, and the self-destructive lengths Cas and Dean will go to save each other.  </p>
<p>I will put TWs up ahead of any chapter that may contain triggering stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Woke Up to the Sound of Silence

The phone rang in the wee hours of the night, and Dean reached for it.  It was his private, _private_ line, the one with the number that he had only given out to family.  _Real_ family.  He squinted at the phone with a groggy frown, and flipped it open.  

“What,” he grumbled in a low tone he hoped would drive away whoever was calling.  A rough voice greeted him from the other line, tinny and echoing.  Service in the bunker was reliable, but it wasn’t gonna win any rewards for call quality.

“Hello, Dean.”  Castiel.  He rolled up, letting the blankets fall into his lap as he forced his sleepy mind to wakefulness.  The angel was not far, but he wouldn’t call this late without reason.  

“Cas.  What’s up?  He scrubbed a hand over his face and heard the other man take a breath.  Strange to hear an angel breathing after what felt like a lifetime of the man being a complete fuckin’ alien.  “Talk to me.”  

The gravel voice, more expressive than it had been previous to his fall, began to speak in quiet tones and as it did, Dean’s eyes widened against the threatening haze of sleep.  “I found a case, I think.  There was a priest.”  Dean waited to hear more, hoping the angel was just calling with terrible timing, and not calling because he was in a hospital with his guts ripped out.  Turns out, Cas just had the worst timing of anyone he’d ever met.  Except when it was the best timing.  “I read about it today.  He was turned inside out, with his entrails strewn all over his rectory.”  Dean fought the visual that threatened and swallowed hard.  His mind began to race with the implications, previous cases, mentally flipping back through John Winchester’s journal.  “I think it’s witchcraft.”  Dean grimaced in displeasure.

“You _think_ it’s witchcraft?  You gonna check it out?”  It was a loaded question, and they both knew it. Castiel was capable, but... There was silence from the other end.  “Cas.”

The angel sighed and there was acquiescence in his voice.  “I don’t think I should.  Because,” he paused and Dean could _hear_ the furrow in his brow and the soft frown that was surely present on his face.  “I’m not _sure_ it’s a coven.  Something about it feels-”  Another pause and Dean knew this to be Castiel’s ‘looking for the right word’ pause.  “It gives me heebs-and-or-jeebs.”  The statement startled a chuckle out of him and Castiel’s silence shifted to mild offense.  “Dean.”

“You're quoting me.  That case in Oklahoma City. The retirement home.”  More silence, this time with an accusing feel.  “Sorry, buddy.”  He couldn’t help a smile, ribbing Castiel was one of his favorite pastimes.  “You interrogated the cat.  So what _do_ you think it is?”  

“I don’t know.  But I think you should come here.  And Sam, of course.”  He offered his brother’s name, and it seemed like an afterthought.  Dean decided not to think of the implications of this.  “I haven’t seen either of you in weeks.”

Dean rubbed his eyes, weary.  Sam was a problem.  Well, more specifically, Sam’s passenger was a problem.  A fallen angel by the name of Ezekiel, supposedly, was healing his brother, supposedly.  And would leave when he was finished.  Supposedly.  “Not Sam.  He’s still weak.  The trials.”  The excuse was starting to feel thin even to Dean, his towering brother was running every morning and seemed the perfect picture of health.  “I’ll come out, I’m looking for some way to get outta here anyway.  It’s been too quiet.”  

“Good.  I will need help.” Dean couldn’t help a worried smile and a nod to himself.  The angel was without powers, completely human, except for the ability to tune into some angel radio and some fuckin’ _killer_ knife skills.  Regardless, he didn’t really want the other man hunting without him.  He wanted him safe, in an angel warded room, hidden behind as many protectives as the boys could draw on the walls.  “Right, good.  You wait til I get there to do anything, okay?”  He paused.  “You got a couch yet?”

Silence greeted his words, and he glanced at his phone.  Still had signal, that wouldn’t be it.  He put it back to his ear just in time to catch the last half of Castiel’s sentence.  “.. can get one.  Are furniture stores open at night?”

“No, Cas, don’t worry about it.  I’ll just sleep in the car when I get there.”  Dean smiled at the hapless angel.  “Wouldn’t be the first time.  We’ll start looking for clues in the morning.”  

“Are you coming now?”  Castiel sounded a little hopeful, and Dean felt for the guy, he really did.  No sooner had he come to the bunker, what Dean had hoped to be a permanent, warm, safe, Reaper-free home for his nerdy little angel buddy, that Ezekiel had put out an ultimatum and he’d had to turn him away.  Cas was strong, though.  He could handle it.  Dean had made sure the fallen angel was well stocked with several spare angel blades.  And a gun.  And anti-angel sigils.  And made him memorize an exorcism.  The last one hadn’t been difficult, Cas was brilliant and already a tactical mastermind, teaching him a few words in Latin (which he apparently spoke fluently) was a piece of cake.  But the poor guy was probably lonely.

“Yeah, thought I’d drive over now.  Sam’s probably still up bein’ a bookworm, I can tell him where I’m going.”  The hunter kicked his feet out of bed, hissing at the cold floor against his warm feet.  “I’ll see you in a couple hours?”  He stood and rummaged for clothing.

“Yes.  I’ll be awake.  Being a... bookworm.”  Dean could hear the flat humor in Castiel’s voice and he chuckled.  “Goodbye, Dean.”  Flipping the phone closed, he set it on the table and began to dress.  The special attention he took to making sure his clothes were clean and fit well had nothing to do with the fact that he was going to go see Cas, they were just friends.  Had always been just friends.  And so he wanted to look nice to go see a friend.  Better to have clean clothes, just in case he wasn’t able to change out of them for a few days.

 


	2. And Cries Were Cutting Like Knives in a Fist Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SAM KNOWS.

He packed a bag, stuffing it full of weapons, and after a few moments of considering his cargo, grabbed a second duffel and carried it towards the kitchen.  He was going to need to make sure Castiel was well supplied, and that meant food, food that could withstand both Castiel’s inexperience with cooking, a siege, and potentially a nuclear apocalypse.  Just in case.  They were safe in the bunker, but for as long as Cas was away, he was in danger.  

The rattling in the kitchen attracted the attention of his brother.  Fourteen feet tall, Sam lurched into the kitchen doorway, stifling a yawn.  

“Dean.  Thought you were in bed.”  Dean could feel a _conversation_ coming on, one he really didn’t want to have with his little brother.  He shoved canned goods into the bag viciously and didn’t turn around.  

“I was.”  

“And now you’re raiding the pantry.”  Sam prompted, his expectant tone indicating that the line of conversation was wide open for Dean to follow if he should so desire.  Dean did not desire.  

“Yeah.”  Dean knew that being stubborn and non-responsive wasn’t a foolproof way to prevent the conversation, but it had worked before and _dammit_ it was gonna work again.  Sam pressed on.

“For creamed corn.”  He was quiet and Dean didn’t respond, just grabbed some tuna and shoved it deep into the bag, bruising his knuckles on another can.  Sam broke first.  “Dean, why don’t we just ask him to come back?”  Dean slammed another can of beans into the bag and turned to face his moose of a brother.  

“Sammy, stop it.  You know he can’t be here.  Not with Kevin working on the tablet, we got the King of Hell tied up in our basement, _you_ -” He sighed.  “We don’t need more after us than we’ve already got, he’s dangerous to have around.”

Sam half-frowned, his shoulders lifting in a bit of a shrug.  “Well, yeah, I know, but the bunker should be safe.  We have all kinds of warding on it.  We could put up angel warding, you know, make it permanent.  Keep him safe.”  Dean scowled at his brother.

“Permanent angel warding?  What if he ever gets his mojo back?  He wouldn’t be able to..”  Dean couldn’t articulate his thoughts, Sam had caught him off guard and he was angry.  How dare Sam suggest he ward out Cas, well, if Cas ever got fixed, got his grace back.  “What if the angels found him anyway and just decided to wait us out?  We’d run outta food, man.  We couldn’t fight a whole garrison of fallen angels, that’s just crazy.”  He stopped ranting and stretched up to get a package of crackers from an upper shelf.  “It’s better this way.”  

Sam made his way into the kitchen and knocked the packet down for Dean.  “Dean, I’m trusting you on this.  But if he gets hurt because of you being stubborn... you’re never gonna forgive yourself.”  Sam was quiet for a few moments as Dean continued packing up the food in silence.  Sam leaned against the counter.  “And you deserve a chance to be happy.”

Dean exploded, rounding on his brother furiously.  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he growled savagely.  The reaction wasn’t intentional, it was just _there_ and he hadn’t had a proper chance to examine the emotion before reacting.  He yanked the zipper on the duffle into place and shouldered it.  “You can keep your _fucking_ diagnosis to yourself, asshole.”  He stormed away from Sam, knocking the bag of canned food against him as he swept past.

“Dean!  Come on, I didn’t mean it the way you think I did!”  Dean rounded on him, teeth bared in a snarl.  

“How the fuck _did_ you mean it, Sam?”  He realized that his reaction was too much but by this time he was too invested in it and the anger just wouldn’t dissolve.  Sam shrugged broad shoulders and looked guilty.  Dean felt the moment of terrifying emotion that had been forced on him start to slip away and he felt relief.  

“I just.. you know, we just said goodbye to Charlie.  Cas... he’s our friend.  You want him safe.  I want him safe.  Why can’t we just let him come back?  It would be better if he were with us.”  Dean shook his head.  He couldn’t allow that.  Zeke had given him a no on having Cas in the bunker, and thinking about it was pointless.  Sam had to heal before he could even think of getting Ezekiel out of him.  

“ _No_ , Sam.  At least... not now.  He’s dangerous.”  He was paused in the doorway and he started to turn, resting a hand on the doorframe.  “We’re done talking about this, Sam.”  Sam nodded and Dean squashed down another surge of frustration at the accepting we-can-talk-about-this-anytime-you-like look on his brother’s face and stalked towards the garage and the shelter of his Impala.  “Take care of Kevin!  Make sure he eats!”  Sam huffed a laugh behind him and Dean realized that the two of them were both equally useless at feeding themselves.  “Make sure _you_ eat, too.”  

“Okay, okay.  Hey, Dean,”  Dean paused at the end of the hallway and glanced back at his brother, hoping that his thunderous expression was enough to ward off the conversation Sam had been trying to have with him since Castiel had returned from Purgatory.  “Be careful.”  Sam said, and it sounded like he was relenting.  Dean nodded at him and left.

 


	3. I Found You With a Bottle of Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback Chapter!

The Impala roared through the midwestern night followed by the dulcet tones of Metallica.  He was humming along, letting the complex melody wash over him and wallowing in the stress.  Sedentary life was not what he enjoyed, and the thrumming of the engine and the bite of tension and the stench of leather and gasoline were home for him.  There were a lot of threats out in the world that wouldn’t touch them in the bunker, but he _liked_ the threats.  

He checked the clock; three AM.  He’d been on the road for an hour, and it would be another and a couple more lonely stretches of highway still until he arrived at the small apartment they had set up for Castiel.  He turned the music up and, apparently because he enjoyed torturing himself, thought back to the night the man had left the bunker.  

 

 

 _Dean had packed the bag himself.  First aid kit.  Castiel said his name.  Spare angel blades.  Hex bags that would hide him from demons.  Emergency food rations.  A shotgun, ammunition, which Cas had given a disgusted look, his name forming on his lips with an air of reproach.  Roll of toilet paper.  Waterproof matches, a thermal blanket folded up into a small silver square.  Salt, a metric_ fuckton _of salt. As he put each item in, he explained what it was and how to use it.  And Castiel pressed on, reaching to still his hands._

 _“Dean,” Cas insisted, his voice broken, his hands clutching at the canvas of his sleeve.  “Stop._ Please _, Dean.  Talk to me.”  Dean didn’t want to talk about this, this nebulous thing growing in him.  He wanted to talk about shotguns and salt, how to spot a shifter using only a cell phone._

_But he stopped, hands shaking as he turned over Castiel’s new phone to him.  “It’s got my number in it, and Sam’s.  If anything goes wacko on you, you call us.”_

_“_ Dean _.”  Castiel dropped his hands and stared at the phone, then stared at Dean, the wounded look on his face enough to halt the hunter.  “I’ll be fine.  I will.”  He reached up and took the phone, his fingers wrapping around it and Dean’s and trapping them around the cool plastic.  “If you want me to leave... I will leave.  You don’t have to...”  He halted and looked away.  “You don’t have to do all of this for me.”  He gestured at the debris of Dean’s packing as the phone slipped into his palm and Dean’s fingers slipped away._

 _“What?  Of course I do.”  He busied himself with filling the outer pockets of Castiel’s new backpack with books.  Vonnegut, Kerouac.  Fairy tales.  Aesop’s fables.  A book of poetry by Browning.  Books that he himself had enjoyed and he felt contributed to his growth as a human.  “You have to read these.  You’ll call me, we’ll talk about them.”  He suddenly clutched at the padded straps of the backpack, reeling.  This was_ crazy _, he’d only just gotten Cas back, watched him_ die _from getting stabbed in the chest by some crazy bitch he’d_ fucked _...  He couldn’t do this, couldn’t go without him.  Not without some kind of assurance.  “Are you gonna be okay?”_

_Cas stared at him.  “I’m going to be fine,” he said, worried.  The bruise on his cheek was darker now, but it was healing.  Dean hated it, and the scrapes on his hands, the sharp shard of gravel he had pulled out of his palm.  He resisted the urge to reach out and touch the purpled flesh, to touch Castiel, to make sure, absolutely sure, he was alive and intact.  “Dean, I’m not an angel anymore, but it’s okay.  You taught me how to hunt.  I can use an angel blade still.”  He looked around, anywhere but at Dean, and Dean snuck a glance at him.  “I killed two angels that were hunting me.  I didn’t tell you-“_

_“Yeah,” he had tried to say but it took two tries.  “Yeah, we found one of ‘em.”  He stared at the bag in his hands.  Castiel placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed, and the warm weight of his hand was both reassuring and really_ not _at the same time.  “Cas, I...  I wish you could...”  He broke, then, self-loathing and a wretched feeling ripping through him harsher than any torture Alastair had ever inflicted on him and he could feel his face twist and he wasn’t going to fucking cry, not in front of Cas.  Warm fingers touched his face, turning his head into the steady gaze of his fallen friend.   It was too intimate, but everything they did was too intimate these days.  He turned away from the touch, wavered, and dropped his gaze to the ground.  Castiel’s fingers left his cheek and went under his chin to lift his head._

 _“You’re doing what’s best.”  Castiel looked at Dean’s lips and the enormity of the moment hit him.  The lie he was only dimly aware he was telling to everyone, the lie he was telling to_ himself _was failing to hold.   It was slipping away, slipping between his fingers like the star systems through Governor Tarkin’s fingers in the Rebellion against the Empire of his finely honed masculinity.  He started and jerked away from Castiel’s touch, shoving the backpack into his hands and putting on a panicked smile._

_“Yeah.  Well.  We gotta get on the road.  I’ll take you wherever you need to go.  Bet Sam found you a place already.  Sam!”  He all but ran from the room, unable to face the second wounded look from the angel in less than an hour._

 

The last stretch of the highway had been empty but for a lone pickup truck going the opposite way, and Dean was grateful for the preservation of his night vision, at least.  He was a wreck, drifting from sober introspection to wild elation and stopping at all the points there and hence.  His pulse was racing, and for no other reason than that he was going to see Cas, that Cas would be alive and he’d be able to talk to him again.  To see him again.  He didn't want to think of why, but like the intrusive thoughts that only seemed to have gotten worse since his trip to hell, it crept in anyway.

Even without his Grace, the angel meant a lot to him.  Fuck, probably more than anyone else in the world, except for Sam.  And these days, maybe he was even on _equal footing_ with Sam, which in and of itself held an enormous significance.  Dean did his best not to think of that significance and any of the implications held therein, but his mind had nothing better to do than drift as he drove and he reluctantly let himself examine his feelings for the angel, really examine them, for the first time since... well, probably ever if he was gonna be honest.

They’d been to Hell and back, the angel had left a quite literal mark on him, a handprint seared into his shoulder.  Castiel had turned his back on Heaven and fought his own brethren for Dean’s benefit.  He’d watched Cas die, turn on him, lie to him, and when the angel came crawling back, _he still welcomed him_.  There was something there, something he couldn't name and didn’t want to, that kept him hooked on Cas.

 


	4. Your Head in the Curtains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation. Dean almost asks Cas out but doesn't. Macaroni and cheese and tuna.

Dean pulled into a small alleyway, then into a spot behind a row of shops, coasting to a stop and letting the engine shut off.  A single light burned in the upstairs bedroom and he gathered the filled duffel and got out of the Impala.  He shouldered the door shut, and let his hand slip into his coat for the demon knife.  Having it in his hand would make him feel better.  He made his way up the single flight of stairs and knocked at the door, heart hammering in his chest.  There was no answer, of course, Castiel wasn't _stupid,_ and Dean tried the door with his left hand, keeping the bulk of his body out do the way of the door.  

"Cas, buddy, you here?" He pushed open the door and placed himself on the small square of carpet just inside the door.  It concealed a devils trap, of course.  The hardwood floors of the place were too nice to mark up, for the price of the apartment, so they'd kept the trap on the underside of the rug.  The hunter moved past it in a wary stance and the door swung shut.  Cas was there behind the door, looking as wary as Dean felt.  He looked good, he was clean and alive and Dean felt cautious relief.  They'd gone over the ritual of hunter greetings before he'd left and now, as they stared each other down, Dean started the greeting.  He held up the point of Ruby's knife and lowered his bags to the ground, his fingers spread in temporary armistice, and pulled a silvered penknife from his pocket. He pressed the blade against his flesh until blood welled.  Castiel's intense gaze flickered, took in the well of blood and then went back to his face, a nearly imperceptible nod tipping his chin down.  Dean tossed the knife to him and Castiel caught the handle with ease in his left hand, the point of his angel blade still low and aimed at Dean, before dropping the penknife to his forearm and drawing it across pale skin.  Blood trickled from the cut.   

Dean watched quietly then pulled out a flask, pouring holy water over the wound and screwing the lid back on before setting it on the ground and kicking it over.  Castiel stopped it with his toe and stooped to reach for it, unscrewing the top and pouring it over his hand.  Dean felt immense relief, dropping the blade and walking forward to embrace his friend, who remained on guard.  

"Give me your arm." Cas demanded of him, the blade coming up to aim unerringly at his heart.  Dean skidded to a halt with a faint frown, then offered his forearm.  The former angel gripped his wrist and ran the triangular edge of the angel blade against his flesh, watching intently as he did so.  There was no answering beam of a reaper's soul light, no shimmer of angel mojo from within him.  Castiel finally relaxed, the blade clattering to the ground as he leapt towards Dean and wrapped himself around the taller man.  Dean was pleased, but unnerved by the hug but since when was that news?  Pulling away after the requisite three seconds of physical contact required in the Winchester family, he held Cas at arms length.  

"Cas.  You doing okay?  Really?"  Cas frowned and nodded, his hands coming up to frame the hunters shoulders.  "I brought food."  He took a moment to look around the sparse apartment.  Only a small bookshelf had been added since the last time he had seen it, and the bed had sheets on it, tumbled into an unattended mess, with Slaughterhouse Five closed next to the pillow, but aside from those changes - it was bare.  Just a kitchenette and a living room, with a narrow door leading to the bathroom.  Dean had been in more luxurious prison cells.  

He suspected that Cas was hoping to come back to the bunker soon, and that was why he hadn't bothered to furnish the place.  "I'm fine.  I have been eating, and sleeping.  And I suppose my urination and bowel movements have been regular."  Cas looked doubtful as to the accuracy of his information but Dean didn't want to know.  

"Great." He said with a weary air.  Trust Cas to make him laugh, get him out of his introspective loathing.  He studied the angel and let a smile cross his face.  "It's good to see you."  Castiel returned his smile with a small one of his own.  The bruise on his cheek was gone and he looked clean-shaven which was something at least.  Dean walked in and made his way to the kitchen, unzipping the duffel and rummaging through the small cupboard that was all Castiel had of food.  There were discarded dishes by the sink and he found himself removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.  "Have you eaten?"  

Cas shook his head, then settled against his counter to watch Dean in his kitchen.  "I fell asleep early."  He looked disgusted with himself and Dean let a crooked smile, fiddling with the faucet to get the hot water running.  He picked up the discarded dishes and found a cloth, and some soap.

"Don't you worry, Cas.  We're gonna eat like kings."   He bumped the shorter man's shoulder playfully with his and Cas gave a soft huff of laughter.  That in and of itself was remarkable.  Cas didn't laugh.  Well, he smiled sometimes.  Showed amusement when Dean was the butt of a cosmic joke, which seemed to happen altogether too often.   Watched Dean laugh and sometimes echoed him, in a quiet exhalation from his nose more often than not.  But never belly laughter, never the peals of genuine happiness that humanity was capable of and for that Dean was a little sad.  He knew he had no chance of happiness in his life, but maybe he could give Cas that chance.

"Do kings eat well?" Cas intoned with a hint of sarcasm.  Dean grinned.

"Some of them do.  Not Crowley.  Guy's on a strict diet of bologna on white."  Castiel gave a small humorless smile, looking down at his hands, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve.  A grey cabled pullover, on over a white button up.  His collar wasn't buttoned, and he could barely see the white cuffs at his wrists.  He looked shockingly put together, his hair combed, his clothes neater than Dean had ever seen.  Less like a holy tax accountant, and nothing at all like the dead hobo they'd found when they'd rescued him after his fall.  But something about the outfit kept nagging at him.  He was standing close, too close as he usually did, and Dean could feel the warmth of his body radiating from him despite the relative cool air of the apartment.  He finished the dishes, setting them on a towel on  the counter to drain, and used the wet cloth to start on the counters, sweeping crumbs off the edge into a cupped hand.  Castiel's attention went to the brushing of crumbs and he furrowed his brow.  Dean smirked at him as he scrubbed at a sticky spot.  "This is how you get ants." 

"I like ants," the angel replied with dignity, then looked apologetic.  "I'm sorry.  I should have cleaned." He made to push himself away from the counter, to help.  Dean shook his head, moving in front of him to dump the crumbs in the trash.  

"No, Cas.  Don't worry about it."  He rinsed his hands in the sink, drying them on his pants.  "Did you see the kitchen in the bunker?"  

"No." Cas replied flatly.  Dean smiled, warming to the topic, but before he could continue, Castiel interrupted.  "I don't want to know about it."  Dean looked at him, and Cas was making resolute eye contact.  "I'm dangerous, and the less I know about it the better."  There was something in his tone that warned Dean to drop it, but Dean could be like a terrier with things like this.  

"That's not true."

"It's not my home," he interrupted again with a deeper frown,  "and when you talk about it, it feels like I belong there.  But I do not."  He looked away, placing the flats of his palms back against the counter and Dean had a memory, distant and recent all at once, of a warrior of Heaven challenging him in Bobby's kitchen.  How unearthly blue his eyes had been, how the air between them had crackled with energy, how the one thing he could _feel_ after the lifetime of torture was the power of the angel, and how it made him feel a little odd and a little awed all at once.  He'd woken up from that dream painfully hard for the first time in _ages_ , the deep whisper ( _"You should show me some respect,"_ ) echoing in his ears and a growing fire in his veins that wouldn't stop burning until he'd reached into his jeans and stroked at a punishing pace, spilling over in hot pulses over his hand and belly. He'd passed out then, feeling relief that yeah, everything was still in good working order even after Hell, but also shame that it took a dressing-down by an angel to get him there.

Now he studied the angel-turned-man, and yeah, maybe his eyes were a little less unearthly and the air a little less electric.  Maybe he couldn't zap in and out of Dean's dreams at will.  But he was still _Cas_ , and he had done enough in the short time Dean had known him to earn the respect he'd asked for in that kitchen.  He sighed, leaning his hip against the counter and facing him.  He'd put more space between them, the appropriate distance of two male friends having a discussion, and marked that distance out on the dingy tile.  Cas's feet, white square, black square, half a white square, Dean's boots. 

"It's Zeke," he paused and clarified, and could feel the worry creasing his own face, no matter how hard he fought it.  "Ezekiel.  He... He's inside Sammy."  He could feel Cas staring at him, could feel the questions Cas wanted to ask rolling off him in waves and bit his lower lip, and just like that, it all came spilling out.  "Sammy... He wasn't doing too hot.  Brain shutting down, his organs all fucked up.  _Burned_ , from the inside out or something, the doctor said."   He looked at the window, a faint glow from the street light in the alleyway revealing the faint speckle of raindrops on the pane.  "He thought the trials were healing him of the demon blood.  He thought they were _purifying_ him, Cas."  

The darker haired man was silent, the only sound Dean's ragged inhalation and the smattering of rain against the window as it started to rain in earnest.  He looked at the ground.  White square, black square, half a white square.  "So I prayed.  Prayed for you, then when you didn't answer-" Cas was wearing his wounded animal expression, and Dean could tell, "-Don't look like that, Cas, I know you _couldn't_ -" He took a breath. "I prayed to all the angels.  For any of 'em that could help.  Some of 'em attacked but Zeke, he was good, he tried to heal him.  But he couldn't.  Wasn't strong enough."  He exhaled slowly, shakily.  "Not from outside.  And Sam, he was going.  _Dying_." 

"So he took Sam as... as a vessel?  Sam agreed to that?"  Dean was silent, unable to confess the truth to his friend, and Cas was silent for a few moments.  "Oh.  How did it happen?  We have to have consent."  Bitterly, he amended.  " _Angels_ have to have consent.  He couldn't consent if he was dying."  Dean shifted.  White square, black square.  

"Zeke went into his head.  Made some kind of agreement with him, and we've hadta keep it under wraps, or Sam will kick him out."  He reached up, rubbed a hand over his face.  "And that's why... Zeke is why we can't have you there.  The angels are looking for you and..."  He broke, sighed, and turned to face Cas.  "You belong there.  You do.  It's.  It's your home.  You're family.  We- I want you there."  He frowned at his feet.  Black square.  And then it was just Castiel's feet next to his, Castiel's hand on his shoulder and the back of his neck, Castiel's forehead against his shoulder and his arm encircling Dean's waist.  He smelled of toothpaste and something else and Dean couldn't help that nagging feeling that he was missing something important.  

"But I can't go back or Sam will be in danger.  Dean, this is better.  At least until Sam has regained his strength and Ezekiel has been restored in a more appropriate vessel."  He stood still, his arms warm around Dean, fingers stroking his neck and wrapped in the canvas of his coat.  "I'm fine here."  He pulled back.  Black square, white square.  Dean looked up at him.  

"Really?" Evidently his disbelief was clear in his tone and Castiel stared at him without blinking.  

"Yes.  There are times that I feel trapped.  I can't drive.  I don't know how to do the simplest things, things you grew up doing."  Dean nodded.  He couldn't argue that Cas had to have the biggest fucking case of culture shock ever.  Shaking himself, he stepped to the bag and started rummaging through, pulling out a can of tuna and a box of macaroni and cheese.  

"Wish you weren't so far away.  We could go our for drinks sometime.  You, me." He cursed the urge to stop there and forced himself to continue.  Whatever fucked up thing he had for Cas was just that, _fucked up._ "Sammy.  Kevin.  Zeke, if he gets outta Sammy and finds his own place."  He snorted.  "Hell, if we're gonna take a trip to fantasy land, might as well invite Crowley."  Water burbled from the tap as he filled a battered pot and set it on the stove, lighting the burner underneath.  And he turned his attention to the angel to find him _smiling_.  "Cas, what."

"I would like that.  But my tolerance for liquor is not what it once was." The thought of a drunken Castiel flickered through his mind, not wrecked and angry at heaven, but pleasantly flushed and warm, and perhaps even a bit loose-limbed, the taut muscles that wrapped him and the cords of tendons once trembling to contain the angel's grace relaxed, perhaps pressed against his side, his pliant lips... Dean halted all thoughts there and stood with his hands propped against the edge of the stove.  The old idiom wandered through his head about watched pots, and he focused on it, clung to it.  "You are quiet."


	5. Heart Like the Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation. Macaroni. Plot divergence from canon.

"Yeah." Dean turned his head, not quite looking at him.  "They say 'a watched pot never boils.'  You ever heard that?"  Cas tilted his head, like a curious puppy.  Dean really enjoyed that look.  "It means that if you're paying too much attention to something, it'll never happen.  That sometimes you have to leave stuff alone."  Castiel looked at the pot on the stove and then his blue eyes flicked back to Dean.  

"I like that.  We say something similar in Enochian.  _Dorphal bagle ananael eolis i dosig_ _io-iad._ “ Dean watched his lips, his mind racing and his mouth suddenly dry.  Some part of him, mourning the angel’s grace, thrilled at the harsh tongue of the angels coming from Castiel’s mouth, it showed that the man wasn’t as broken as Dean might have thought.  And then he thought himself an idiot.  Of course Cas didn’t up and forget a language he’d been speaking for millions of years.  It would take more than that to knock him down.  A small, vicious part of his brain confirmed that, and then informed him that it took a reaper and an angel blade to the chest to knock him down, and how often did one have a pocket angel around anymore.  Dean squashed that little voice with as much malicious vengeance as he could.

“What’s it mean?” he asked, curious.  Castiel furrowed his brow and considered it the words, his lips almost twitching as he struggled to find the correct words in English.

“‘Looking for secret wisdom hath made eternal night.’  Meaning that when searching for enlightenment, one always feels the need to give up.  And does, many times.  But it’s during those times that one need the wisdom the most.”  He sighed.  “I watched it happen, Dean.  Time after time, humanity gave up their search for wisdom, or searched for the _wrong_ wisdom, and went into darkness.”  Castiel gestured abortively.  “Too long in the darkness and the eye becomes vestigial.  Like in cave fish.  And it takes certain people, _special_ people, to pull humanity out of the pit they’ve fallen into.”  Dean studied Castiel and let his words wash over him.  Cas didn’t often speak so much, but Dean found the stilted cadence of his words comforting after a few months without them.  He looked over his shoulder to note that the water was _still_ not boiling, and then gave Castiel one of his most charming grins.  He could not keep the edge of flirtation out of his voice, even if it was the last thing he wanted.  

“I like it when you speak to me in Enochian, Cas.  Tell me more about secret wisdom and stuff.”   Castiel was silent for some time, studying Dean with furrowed brow and Dean tried to place his expression.  Soft in some ways, anguished in others, his lips parted as though he already had words enough to say but couldn’t quite bring himself to say them.  Dean could feel regret and panic rushing through his mind as Castiel began to speak, low and steady.  His eyes burned into Dean’s and it was like an exorcism, like he was trying to expel something from Dean but not really, maybe he wanted to expel _Dean_ , to pull him out of himself, and the syllables were powerful, they meant something, not some silly colloquial thing about boiling water, and Dean didn’t want to know what they meant but at the same time he _knew._ Some distant memory, dragged up by the words coming from Castiel’s mouth.  They had an air of ritual, of recitation to them.

 _“Lap corsi ar farzm nonci fafen ialpir.”_ Imaginary flames licked around him and he closed his eyes against the familiar not-familiar words, tuning out screams of metal and agony that weren’t there and blood coating his skin.  “ _Ecrin lap do-o-a-in, Dean Winchester, Castiel ozien casarm qa-a-an.”_   Chains binding his flesh, darkness and torture, torment and blades, his own betrayal, the breaking of the seal.  “ _Zirdo iaida hoath ol v baltoh ollor.”_ Light, bright enough to sear.  Enormous beams of light.  The flutter of wings - a soft and almost mundane sound in the harsh screaming of Hell.  The last spoken with near reverence, Castiel’s voice nearly breaking at the end and a dry touch of fingers on the back of his hand made him unclench his fingers from the edge of the counter where he was hanging on, reeling.  

“ _Cas._ ”  Dean protested weakly, opening his eyes to find Castiel in front of him directly.  The touch to his shoulder where Castiel had once branded him with the pure glory of his form made him shiver and the touch was intimate.  Too intimate for friends.  He had felt that kind of touch on the seared mark before, in the backseat of the Impala on a dark night, looking down into the hooded eyes of a fallen angel that arched and sighed beneath him and suddenly in his mind the hazel eyes turned blue, long, tousled red hair was short and dark, the soft curve of her breasts against his chest replaced with solid planes of muscle and skin and he was _done_.  Done waiting, done fighting to keep his distance, done not thinking about it.  Before he could examine what exactly it was he was done not thinking about, Castiel breathed another phrase, his voice breaking at the very end.  

“ _Rest-el, Castiel bransg vors il brgdo. Niiso, page ethamza aqlo so bra vpaahi zildar nonce fafen mir._ ”  His eye contact shifted, for a moment his expression was so utterly broken and lost Dean didn’t know what to do, how to save him, or even what he said.  “Rest beneath the wings that flew you from torment,” he said, the rough edge to his voice trembling.  Dean felt stricken, his eyes still on the face of his fallen angel, who was living graceless and alone in an apartment above a shop.  What had he _done_?

“I ruin everything I touch.  Isn’t that what your sister said?  My very touch corrupts.”  He could feel himself poised on the knife’s edge, teetering over a catastrophic emotional event, one that had been brewing for many years.  Castiel’s sharp blue gaze had flickered back to him, then, strong, just as strong as he ever was and he was _on_ Dean, his hands on his face, making him look at him, _holding him_.  

“Dean, when I met you I was under orders.  In _millions_ of years, I never made a choice for myself.  When Anna showed me free will, that rebellion was not only possible but _better_ , I started changing.  I changed for you, but _I_ made the choice.”  He cupped Dean’s face and his hands were warm, firm.  “I cannot say that I am happier like this,” he conceded softly, the hard edge going out of his voice as he stared at Dean with imploring eyes.  “But in knowing sorrow and pain, I have expanded my knowledge of happiness.  I can see the _potential_ for it in myself.”  Dean felt Castiel's hands drop from his face to rest against his shoulders.

“What did you say?”  That insistent memory of the Enochian words, words that he remembered, didn’t remember, and felt resonating through him.  “What did it mean?”  Castiel cleared his throat and let his hands drop, his gaze holding him.

“I am the one that lifted you from flames.  Praise to thy name, Dean, my hands hath overseen your creation.  I worship the righteous man.  Praise be, I guard over your dreams.”   With a similar tone of pain as the one he had used before, he continued.  “Rest beneath the wings...” Dean stopped him by gripping his forearm.

“.. that lifted me from torment.”  He was silent for a moment.  “Did you say those things to me before?”  Castiel nodded, letting his eyes drift away.  

“In Hell.  And after.  When I was remaking your body and repairing your soul.”   Dean blinked at the not-memories, his brain hurt from trying to make sense of it all.  He supposed they were less memories, and instead _instincts_ , built into him likely by the repetitions of the angel as his flesh, bones, body and soul were recreated by the divine being.  Branded into him by Castiel's glory.

“Did you... you know, fix me up?  All by yourself?”  Something about that was important too, and he added it to the other things nagging at his brain that he wanted to ignore.  

“Dean, it isn’t difficult to recreate matter from an existing mold.”  Castiel seemed embarrassed, but pleased that Dean had noticed, even after years.  It reminded him of the flustered look he would get if he ever complimented someone's home.  “Your soul needed the most healing, but most of it you had to do yourself.  I just helped when needed.”  He looked to the side and was silent for a few moments and Dean looked sharply at him.  He knew the angel well enough to know when he was being evasive.  Though Castiel evasive was far different from Sammy evasive or Bobby evasive, he knew it by the way the angel fell silent early and did not disclose information.  There was more here and Dean stared at him and Cas caved.  "Hell changed you, Dean.  I am sorry I did not know you before; I think I would have done a better job."

"Cas..."  He paused without knowing his next words, casting his eyes around the room.  A low burbling sound caught his attention, and he glanced back to check on the water.  It was boiling, and he turned away to tear into the macaroni package.  "Gotta get dinner on.  Breakfast.  Whatever."  He could feel the heat of the man's proximity behind him and he pushed that out of his head, dumping the dry noodles into the pot.  Problem was, he had forgotten in his fluster to take out the packet of powdered cheese, and now it was in the pot as well.  "Shit."  He rummaged for a fork in a drawer, found one (among a smattering of other utensils; a spoon, a knife, a titanium spork, corkscrew and three shrimp forks - human or angel, Cas was _weird_ ) and scooped the packet of cheese, now drenched, into the sink where it landed steaming.

He set the noodles back on the stove and gave them a stir, turning back around to find that Castiel hadn't moved.  His blue eyes were still fixed to Dean's and Dean couldn't bring himself to say anything at all, for once.

"Dean," Words crept out of him slowly, then tumbled out all at once.  "Thank you.  For coming here.  For making... food."  Dean blinked.  Cas didn't thank him for things unless the situation was _dire_.  "I know I am not doing very well as a human, everyone thinks I'm strange.  But you... you have never thought me strange."  His hand stretched out to touch the canvas of Dean's sleeve and he curled his fingers into it.  Dean watched his minutely trembling hand and felt terrible.  "Not prohibitively strange."  

"It's nothing, Cas.  I'm sorry I didn't come out before.  Things got busy, Charlie... you would like Charlie.  She went off to Oz with the real Dorothy - what is my life.  Anyway.  It got crazy there for a while."  His words felt flimsy, an excuse.  What the hell kind of man was he, leaving his best friend outside of Sammy alone against the world that was _undoubtedly_ gunning for him.  Miserably, he repeated it to drive the point home both to Cas and himself.  "I should have come to see you sooner."  And he should have come to see him without there being a case involved.  Maybe grab a beer, teach him a little more about being a human.  Get him laid.  Dean didn't think about the twist in his gut that happened after _that_ thought.  _Obviously_ he was just hungry.  

Castiel was silent, giving him the look he _always_ gave him when he thought Dean was being too hard on himself, forgiveness and exasperation with a little bit of puzzled confusion mixed in for effect.  He stood with arms outstretched, fingers wrapped lightly around Dean's forearms.  Dean decided that for once, the angel was right.  Maybe he was being too hard on himself, his natural instinct of self-loathing was getting a little old.  Cas was obviously doing okay on his own, and it was probably a good thing that he had had a chance to settle in without Dean being the hovering tiger mom.  He allowed himself a chance to relax, then a corner of Cas's mouth lifted in a very Cas-like smile.  

Dean studied the other man.  When they first met, Castiel had never smiled.  Over time, Dean came to realize that he really did, though it was more often with his eyes and in the cant of his head, a serene expression that suggested that all was right with the world and that Dean was behaving himself in a way that wouldn't get him smote by his superiors.  This smile wasn't one of those.  It was a genuinely pleased smile, and Dean found himself thinking that it was kinda cute, if one was into that sort of thing.  He abruptly halted that train of thought before it went introspective on him.  He shook one arm free and turned to prod at the macaroni.  The silence was long, and comfortable, Cas letting go of his arm and moving around him to watch him pluck one of the noodles from the boiling water.  

"How can you tell if it's edible?"  he asked with interest, for once no longer staring at Dean and instead studying the precariously balanced noodle.  Dean blew on it a few times and dumped it into his palm before tossing it into his mouth.  

"'s not done yet." he said around the bits of starchy pasta in his mouth.  Castiel tipped his head as he watched.  "Still too chewy."  He leaned over and fished out a second noodle, blew on it, then offered it to Cas, who held out a hand, then ate the proffered noodle.  His nose wrinkled.  Dean went warm and fuzzy, then denied it to himself.

"It's bland." he said, and Dean smirked.  "And chewy.  It's.. not supposed to be chewy?"  Dean stirred the noodles to keep them from sticking and shook his head.  

"Nah."  He turned his back again and leaned against the stove, folding his arms over his chest.  "Not that bad.  It's like chewin' on an eraser.  So how goes life as a human, Cas?  Sleep with any more crazy?"  And as soon as it was out of his mouth, he regretted the question.  It was laced with inexplicable bitterness.  Castiel looked at him with a faint hint of confusion.  

"... No?" he said, seeming to hope it was the right answer, then he nodded in understanding.  "You mean intercourse.  No."  He turned a bright and scrutinizing gaze onto Dean.  "Why do you sound so upset when you mention it?  You did before, with the reaper."  He held the gaze until Dean scoffed, and Dean was pleased to see that the angel had the _decency_ to look away from him.  That was the closest to contrition he'd ever seen on Cas.  

"Because the first rule of not dying is 'don't stick your dick in crazy,' Cas, and it's my job to make sure you don't die.  So don't stick your dick in crazy."  He could feel the walls coming up and he let them.

Cas was looking dignified. "I did not stick anything in crazy.  She seemed very kind, selfless.  She took me home when I was in the rain-"

"-and stabbed you," Dean interrupted, a desperate need to remind him making him nearly sick to his stomach, and _certainly_ not the thought of Cas sleeping with some floozy who brought hobos into her home.  "with your own goddamn knife."  

Castiel frowned, struggling to explain himself.  "She was possessed, not in control of her actions.  I don't... what happened was a mistake.  I'm not used to... seeing only what this vessel sees.  Why are you angry with me?"  The last was directed at Dean, who could feel his expression darkening in response to his emotional shut down.  Anger was safe.  Pure.

"Because she _killed_ you, Cas!"  He struggled to get himself in hand, because he was furious now, anger making his vision blurry around the edges.  "She _killed you_ with your own fucking knife."  Castiel looked a bit stunned and concerned for Dean's sanity.  

"She didn't kill me.  I'm alive, Dean."  

"Yeah.  Because of Zeke.  He... saved you."  Cas's puzzled expression broke and realization crept into his face, then suddenly he looked sorrowful.  "He brought you back.  If he hadn't... Cas, I woulda gone wherever they had taken you.  I woulda brought you back.  I swear to you.  Done whatever it takes."  He realized he was rambling, the thought of Castiel's death making him panicky, his palms getting damp and his face seeming to flush.  "Shit!  Macaroni!"  Castiel's facial expressions had been following the things he was ranting about, sorrow and apology, and then at his last exclaimation, utter bewilderment that on Cas, was displayed as squinting and a twitch of his mouth.  He had just a moment to appreciate it before he whirled around and prodded at the noodles, fishing one out and dragging the pot off the stove.  

The macaroni was little more than beige mush held together in gently swooping elbow shapes.  He made it anyway, stirring in cheese from the drenched packet and a can of tuna, split the meal between two mismatched plates, and handed one to Cas with the single spoon from the utensil drawer.

 


	6. You Swore and Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starting to get a little smutty. Dean finds porn.

Cas moved back, placing his plate on the island of the kitchen and taking a seat on a stool nearby as Dean leaned against the counter.  They ate in silence for a few minutes, Castiel eating with mechanical efficiency, broken only by questioning.  "This is good.  What is it?"  

"Macaroni and cheese.  And tuna."  Cas furrowed his brow slightly and Dean could see the question forming in his eyes before he opened his mouth.  "Macaroni is a kind of pasta, like spaghetti.  The italians have a name for every shape of pasta they make.  These bendy ones," he held up his fork upon which was speared a single elbow noodle, "are macaroni."  

Castiel fell silent, content to simply absorb the new information.  Dean watched him as he ate, and tried not to think particularly hard.  Instead, he focused on the feeling that had niggled at him earlier.  The sweater was _weird_.  It wasn't Cas-like at all, it seemed too new, fit too well to the man's body, and the way he was wearing it with the button up underneath tucked in, well, it was odd.  Cas the angel would have had one of the flaps untucked and his collar somehow trapped under the v-neck of the grey sweater.  Cas the man just looked _good_.  And he smelled of toothpaste, and something else that Dean reluctantly placed as aftershave.  

Dean glanced at his watch.  It was verging on five in the morning.  His brain meticulously, carefully put together the facts.  He had a keen mind, being a hunter was sort of like being a detective sometimes and even though he left most of the boring research to Sam, he could put together available facts like a _pro_.  Castiel had showered, brushed his teeth, was freshly shaved and dressed fuckin' _beautifully_ (there was something about that shade of grey that really made his blue eyes look even fucking bluer) and all of this had occurred likely _after_ Dean had agreed to come out and see him.  

There were implications to that, and he was going to take a damn closer look at them, but Cas caught him staring and did that faint half-smile again, setting down his spoon to face him.  He was mostly done with his food, while Dean's had gone mostly untouched.  "You still hungry?  You can have mine.  I ate dinner, at least."  There was a note of teasing in the last bit, but Cas missed it, instead he looked grateful and accepted his plate, digging into it.  

Implications.  Either Cas was possessed in some manner (unlikely, they'd done all the tests, or at least, all the tests he knew of) or Cas had, for some reason, done a hell of a lot of very human things with the knowledge that Dean was coming to see him.  Dean squinted at Cas and tried to suss out the angel's motivation.  It wasn't enough; he needed more clues.  Luckily, Dean was the king of subtlety and could make casual, investigative conversation like a professional.

“You’ve been reading my book.”  He nodded to the copy of Slaughterhouse Five on the bed.

“Yes,” Cas responded, round a mouthful of macaroni.  “It reminds me of you.”  Dean choked and Cas looked up at him in alarm.  “Not in a negative way, Dean.  They speak of free will, and some seem to think it doesn’t exist.  The book is fatalist.  It insists that _not_ knowing can lead to a greater happiness than _knowing_ and these things remind me of you.”  He was quiet for a moment, and put down his spoon.  “It also reminds me of Heaven.  The Tralfamadorians and the descriptions the author used.  The hierarchies of angels have very similar temperaments.  They don't look anything the same, though.”  Dean could see the parallels Cas was drawing, but he didn’t have any clues about the clothing.  

“Yeah, makes sense.”  He fell silent again and pursed his lips. The subtle tactic was not working.  ”So, you look uh.. pretty trendy.  For you."  Dean breached the topic of Cas's fashion choices cautiously.  If it had been anyone else, or if anyone had been in earshot, he wouldn't have said a word about it, and he felt pretty fuckin' proud of himself for approaching it.  "Get tired of the _derelicte_ look?"  He congratulated himself on a well-timed Zoolander reference; god knows _those_ were fucking hard to fit in to conversation.  Cas looked down at his clothes, leaning back from the countertop.  

"Trendy?"  he sounded puzzled.  Not like he was confused about the meaning of the word, but as though he was startled that Dean had noticed.  “I don’t understand.  Is that a compliment?”  Cas looked doubtful and Dean shrugged non-commitally.  

“It’s not a bad look for you.”  He felt his face heat up and purposefully looked away as the ex-angel continued shoveling food into his mouth.  "It's kindof a compliment, yeah." The expedition into the land of possible clues as to the reason for Castiel’s spiffiness cut off, Dean considered another tactic while Cas finished and stood, bringing the dishes to the sink.  He was close enough for his shoulder to brush Dean’s as he looked up to him.  A faint smile creased the corners of his eyes as he did, and his head inclined slightly.  

“Thank you.”  And he caught Cas’s eyes and again, his train of thought was done.  Over.  Stopped on the tracks.  He felt his tongue flick out and wet his lower lip and felt his hand lift to rub along it, and a small part of him _hated_ how it felt like an invitation.  And a part of him wondered if it _was_ an invitation.  Sure seemed like he’d been making that move a lot around the other man.  Cas stepped back, seeming to sink into some semblance of his former awkward self, and broke eye contact.  “I think I will sleep before tomorrow.”   His voice was calm but Dean knew him well enough to see _something_ reflected in his expression. Frustration?  Confusion?  

“Yeah.  Okay.  I gotta pee, can I hit the head?”  Cas nodded, already turning and heading for the bed.  Dean, pondering the emotional clue he’d gotten, shut himself in the small restroom and unzipped.  He was in hand, zoning out when his eye fell on the small stack of magazines on the back of the tank.  Curious, he tilted his head to read the covers.  He nearly pissed himself when it sank in.

Cas was reading _chick magazines_.  Dean was both surprised and very unsurprised at the same time.  What really intrigued him were the little blurbs of flavor text on the covers, all about fashion and makeup and getting the nebulous ‘him’ to fall for the feminine wiles being encouraged by the gospel of Cosmo.  Finishing up, he tucked himself away, flushed, and rinsed his hands.  He left the water running as cover, taking a chance to rifle through the stack of magazines.  It seemed to be all Cosmo except for one notable exception near the center.  If Dean didn’t know Cas better, he would have assumed somebody was pranking him, sneaking gay porn mags in on the guy.  But Dean was certain no one had been in Castiel’s apartment, it just wasn’t his style.

So it stood to reason, Dean figured, that Castiel was the sole owner and purveyor of said gay porn mag.  He studied the cover.  The man posing seductively on the glossy cover was good looking, in a boy-next-door sort of way.  Stubbled, fair, freckled.  Green eyes, sandy hair.  Dean couldn’t fault his taste in men, even though he himself did not find it attractive.  Well, he figured, it was bound to happen sooner or later.  Everybody had to fool around sooner or later with something new.  For most people it happened in college.  For Cas, he supposed, it happened after falling from Heaven and dying a couple times.

“Dean?”  He jolted, rearranging the stack of magazines in a panic.  “Do you really want to sleep in your car?  There is room in here.”  Dean eyed the magazines and again that nagging feeling that he was missing something important struck him.  He went to the door and opened it, coming face to face with Castiel’s worry.  “The bed is large and I don’t take up much space.  Your car will be cold.”  

Dean considered Cas and weighed the pros and cons.  Pros, warmth.  Company.  Fewer windows.  Cons:  Cas had one pillow.  Cas would be right next to him.  That last one was definitely a con, a dealbreaker, under no circumstances would that ever be a pro.  He would have to let Cas down gently.  After all, he'd be just outside.  “Yeah, okay.”  God damn it.  Except he wasn't really regretting the choice.  He slipped out of his coat and wandered out into the main room, turning back to ask a question of the ex-angel, only to find that he’d entered the vacated restroom, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.  Which was exactly where he didn’t want to be.  

 


	7. We Are Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Creeping a little closer to smut. Slow build, anyone?

The unrelated thoughts that had been circling his mind suddenly started clicking into place.  It wasn’t a coincidence that Castiel was freshly showered, shaved, dressed and looking _fucking_ good at four in the morning.  He had done it for Dean.  He _must_ have.  He had done everything else for Dean, why not this?  And the Cosmos.  They must have been where he’d gotten the ideas.  Dean squinted at the door of the restroom from where he stood frozen in the center of the room, his coat forgotten in his hands.  Where did the porn factor in?  Was Castiel gay?  Did Castiel even have a gender when he wasn’t trapped in the male body of a vessel?  Dean didn’t know enough about angels to provide himself with a definitive answer, but he suspected they didn’t.  Sandy hair, green eyes.  Freckles. That was starting to sound pretty familiar, when he thought about it.  Green eyes were pretty uncommon, and Dean knew from experience that they could open all kinds of doors if used correctly.  Plenty of people liked that color and- Well, _fuck._

The door opened and now Dean was definitely fighting a burgeoning panic attack.  Cas had ruffled his hair a bit, and though he still had that very small edge of frustration to the set of his jaw, he looked a bit more relaxed as he walked to the bed and sat on the Vonnegut side.  He finally lifted his head and looked at Dean, who could feel the frozen expression etched into the lines of his face.  Cas.  Had a thing.  For him.  He had somehow found a magazine that he liked, with a guy that bore a passing resemblance to some of his features.  That had to be it.  Dean squashed the insistent voice that nagged in his brain and told him that Cas wouldn’t really be interested in a ruined, shit human being like him, but at the same time... well, Cas had showed interest in him at his worst.  He had done everything for Dean.

“Dean?”  Dean tried to shake himself, tried to respond, but the only sound that came from him was a thick sound of his tongue sticking to the back of his throat.  Swallowing hard and nearly choking on his tongue, he gave himself a physical shake to get himself moving as Cas stood back up, taking a step towards him with concern.

“Yeah, no, I’m... I’m good.”   he said in a rush.  Castiel halted and studied him.  The silence stretched out between them, a gulf widening between them as Cas tried to catch his gaze and Dean studiously avoided it.  He could feel his face heating up.  He could feel Cas's eyes on him.  He could feel the old thrill in his blood he got when Castiel had faced him down with all of his celestial power.  Without a shred of power in him, the angel still had an imposing presence and as he moved forward to stand far too close than Dean would have preferred given the situation.  In this case, it was within arms length.  

"You look... blotchy."  Cas offered helpfully.  Dean wheezed and stumbled back to the stool, leaning back against the counter and leaning down over his lap, resting his head in his hands, then running them back through his hair to the back of his neck.  

"Cas, I can't... did you get dressed up for me?"  He stared forward at the ground, sliding his hands down to his knees and squeezing them, leaning down.  Deep breaths, Winchester.  Deep fuckin' breaths.  Cas moved closer, and his fucking _shoes_ were shined.  Dean choked again, but managed to keep his voice steady.  "Did you pretty yourself up because I was comin' up here?"  

Castiel's forward progress halted and his goddamn shiny shoes were stopped right in front of Dean's boots.  "Yes," came the short reply, followed by a quiet, sardonic statement.  "I had hoped you would notice earlier.  The magazines were unspecific about what to do if your intended _didn't notice_ your efforts."  _Intended._ Dean exhaled, scrubbing his hands over his face again. 

"Oh god." he muttered, through the shield of his hands.  Castiel bent, trying to catch his eye.  

"I don't think you find me attractive, Dean.  I had hoped, some of our conversations had suggested a more intimate connection than between you and any of your interests.  You look at me in a way that you do not look at others."  He fell silent and Dean risked a glance up. Cas was looking away, his jaw set and brow furrowed in frustration and utter exasperation at the entire human race, and most of all, himself.  His arms were folded across his torso and he _radiated_ irritation.  

"Cas, what the hell are you talking about."  He stared up at him and studied his face.  Cas _was_ attractive, if you were into that sort of thing.  His blue eyes were pretty striking, framed by long dark lashes against his pale skin and the near-black of his hair.  His lips were full, face sensitive.  Dean could objectively see that he was attractive.  But he'd never really stopped to look before.  Sure, he could picture every minute detail of Castiel if he closed his eyes, but that was _different_.  "Sure you're... uh.  Handsome."  Cas met his eyes and Dean looked away immediately.

"Yes."  Dean looked up again and furrowed his brow.  "I _am_ handsome.  Well.  This vessel is."  Castiel gestured at himself with a flustered frown.  "Dean, I find you attractive.  I reconstructed your soul and body and while doing so, I found myself falling in love with the Righteous Man.  And I am sorry I did not choose a female vessel that would have been more interesting to you."  He moved closer to Dean's side, leaning against the counter next to him.  Silence fell between them, broken only by another choked noise as Dean tried to speak, to say _anything_.  Cas took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  His elbow touched Dean's shoulder and they sat in silence.

Dean wasn't freaking out.  Straight dudes whose best _dude_ friends basically said they were in love with them didn't freak out.  They just... took it in stride and moved on with life.  Freaking out would have been silly, because that would have meant there was something _to_ freak out about, and that was outrageous.  Dean chastised himself for even _considering_ that there was a reason to freak out.  Except there kind of _was_ reason to freak out.  He wasn't sure why the idea of being with Cas _biblically_ was appealing, because Cas was a _dude_ and Dean wasn't fucking gay.  But he couldn't argue with the fact that there had been some admittedly gay moments between them.  There had been a time in an alleyway when Cas had beat the shit out of him, ground him up against a wall with his hands fisted in his coat and his eyes bright, his mouth so close and his thigh pressed against and _between._

With a violent shiver, he suppressed that memory and the following memories, shifting on the stool.  Yeah, okay.  So he was physically attracted, if not to the angel than to what the angel could do.  How he would act at times.  His deep voice and his commanding presence.  The way he could wield an angel blade, and the clueless way he would tilt his head like a confused puppy when Dean confused him.  A warm feeling started in Dean's chest and he viciously squashed it.  Okay.  Being physically attracted was okay, but the warm fuzzies were definitely not.  He wasn't fucking gay, and he didn't find the fact that Castiel had cleaned up to see him adorable.  He didn't find _Cas_ adorable in a weird, puzzling, not-quite-human way.  Dean didn't find _anyone_ adorable.  The entire suggestion was slanderous.  And he wasn't fucking gay.

But Cas was _Cas._   Somehow, _that_ made his brain go 'well all right, bring on the dick' which was weird, but also- no, it was just really fuckin' weird.  Dean didn't have anything against anything gay, but he just didn't see himself going there outside of his thoughts.  And he wasn't gonna let Cas get hung up on him if he wasn't gonna be able to get his gay rocks off.  He gave a short little huff of laughter, humorless and somewhat bitter.  His best friend was a gay fallen angel.  He had the King of Hell in his basement.  Another fallen angel was possessing his brother the moose, and he had kidnapped a high school honors student so that he could translate a rock.  Charlie now lived in _Oz_.   He shook his head.  In the grand scheme of things, Cas didn't really seem all that strange. 

He considered the angel with a sidelong look.  Castiel still looked away, though he seemed more serene than he had moments ago.  His shoulders were a bit slumped in a slouch and Dean reached over to rub his back.  "You would be weird as a chick.  Not yourself at all."

Exasperation washed over Castiel's face and he turned slightly.  "Dean, I was a being of celestial intent, I would be myself no matter what flesh I took.  I should have had the foresight to realize that humans _do_ worry about the sexual dimorphism of their partner's bodies."  He accepted the touch though, and his smile appeared and just as quickly, disappeared.  " _You_ would have treated me differently as a woman."  His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.  "You would have tried to have intercourse with me like you did with Anna, in your car."  

Dean could feel his hand still in a faint panic.  "That was different.  I could _tell_ she was a woman."  Cas shook his head.  

"Angels are without gender.  We- _they_ choose to present themselves in a certain way, but they are not tied irrevocably to that chosen presentation like most of humanity.  Michael and Gabriel always chose male vessels and male presentation, but Rafael didn't feel the need to be limited."  Dean tried to wrap his head around the concept.

"But you called Rafael 'brother,' even when he was a chick."  Castiel nodded, seeming bored with the conversation, and wriggled slightly against his hand, which Dean had forgotten to keep moving on his back.

"Brother and Sister are just words, the meaning is the same.  They use pronouns while they walk among you because you are simple and the concept of not using them puzzles you."  Dean tried not to rankle at the succinct appraisal of his humanity, but Castiel didn't seem to mean it harshly.  "It shouldn't; humanity's obsession with such things is a waste of time.”

Dean remembered to move his hand and Cas leaned gently against it.  He was warm and the sweater was very soft.  Dean found himself stroking further up Cas’s spine, almost focusing on the interplay of muscle and bone as the angel shifted to press his body against his side.  He still held his arms folded against his torso, but he was watching Dean with a keen gaze.  The hunter looked up at him and couldn’t bring himself to speak, just slid his hand upwards slowly to the back of Cas’s neck, his fingers slipping under the white collar, curling in the short cropped hair at the nape of his neck as he slowly pulled the ex angel down.  Cas bent willingly enough and Dean lifted his chin, feeling the ghost of a breath against his lips before his nose bumped the other man’s and he obligingly tipped his head.  His lips parted and Castiel stopped.

 


	8. We Are Not Shining Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely smut. Smut smut smut.

Castiel _stopped_.  Dean opened eyes that had drifted shut and looked up at Cas, his lips parted and his heart beating quickly in his chest.  Castiel was looking at him, his face a study in reverence, worship.  “ _Dean_ ,” he said, soft.  

Dean would never admit the noise he made to be a whimper.  “Cas, just fuckin’ kiss me.”  Castiel’s brow furrowed and his arm slowly slid over Dean’s shoulders, his hand coming up to frame his jaw and stroke over his throat.  

“Cas,” he shivered and his tongue flicked out against his lower lip.  

“Dean, we are friends.”   He hesitated.  “Is this something that friends do?”  Dean shook his head, his other hand coming up to frame Cas’s jaw as he turned on the stool to face him.  “Does this make us something other than friends?”

“Cas, c’mon.  Is this really the time to talk about it?”  Castiel looked down at him with more exasperation. 

"Does this mean that you _do_ find me attractive?" he asked pointedly.

“Fine.”  Dean pulled back, looking away and righting himself, the wanton turn of his head and the submissive set of his head uncomfortable when he was having conversations like this.  “Yes.  We would be... something other than friends.”  Castiel stroked his jaw and throat, his fingers running through Dean’s stubble, his intense gaze settled on his lips.  “Cas,” he sighed, leaning into his touch, and just like that it was gone again.  Cas was looking at him, clearly waiting.  "Yeah, okay!  _Yes_ , I find you attractive."  Cas rewarded him with another slight quirk of a smile. 

“Dean, I have loved you since I came to know you.”  Dean was uncomfortable with the revelation and he shifted, avoiding Castiel’s gaze, but the angel’s fingers drew his jaw back into alignment with his and tipped his head up, stroking under his chin.  “My hands have touched you inside and out, I have repaired your flesh and your bones and your soul.”  He leaned in and his lips pressed against Dean’s forehead.  He cupped his jaw and bent to bump his nose gently against his as he drew closer.  Dean’s stomach flipped in something he imagined resembled the butterflies he kept hearing about.  “I want you.  I _need_ you, Dean.”  Dean shuddered and stood suddenly, turning and shoving his body against Cas’s, the _need_ and _want_ and _now_ bringing him close and he reached up to frame his jaw and press a chaste kiss against his lips.  Warm lips responded against his, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as Castiel’s fingers dragged into his hair and tightened.  

It was _everything_ he had expected.  The feel of Castiel’s lips was rough, chapped against his.  His body muscular in his arms, the firm line of his torso interrupted only by an interesting warmth against Dean’s groin.  Cas trembled against him, his head tipping more to deepen the kiss, and stubble scraped against his chin.  A wondering groan left the angel’s lips and Dean licked into his mouth, which intensified the pleased sound.  Normally Dean would have kept himself buried in the kiss, lost himself in the soft charms of a woman, but this was _different_ somehow.  It was Cas.  He pulled back a half-inch and caught the angel looking at him.  He hadn't closed his eyes.  

“Bed, Dean.”  Dean was silent for a few moments, and he could feel the nerves spiking in his gut at the thought of what Cas might be suggesting.  He nodded and pulled his plaid from his shoulders, heading for the bed.  He kicked his boots off and sat on the side of it, moving the book to the floor and watched Castiel eagerly.  Cas moved closer, his hands slipping over Dean’s shoulders and pushing him back to the bed, settling against his lap and pulling his sweater over his head.  His hair went wild, and the button up shirt underneath was rumpled and somehow, that made Dean feel better.  Even so, this was not what he had expected.  Castiel was clearly nervous, he could tell by the shaking of his hands, but there was a steady confidence in his actions that Dean had never thought to expect.  The sweater fell to the floor and Cas ran both hands under the hem of Dean’s t-shirt.  

As the former angel's fingers drew along his belly, tracing the interplay of his muscles and the soft trail of hair between his navel and his belt, he shivered, the tentative digits dipping curiously into his navel.  Dean arched ever so slightly and reached up to curl his fingers behind Castiel's neck, dragging him down into a breathless kiss, his eyes closed as he savored the slow build.  Cas's fingers slid up his chest, under his shirt, his fingers tracing over each rib with reverence before he gripped the edge of the garment and dragged it over Dean's head.  The hunter lifted up to assist with the removal of his shirt, his hands skimming over Cas's thighs and up to his throat, dragging fingers over his skin before fumbling the buttons open and desperately pressing his mouth to the heated skin of his throat.  

Cas shuddered and a desperate sound tore from him, deep and resonant, his hands gripping Dean's ribcage convulsively as Dean dragged his teeth over his throat and licked against his pulse.  His hands tugged at the buttons, hurriedly pushing the white edges of the dress shirt aside and pressing his hands to the man's chest, his lips dragging up to Cas's stubbled jaw and placing a bite there.  Yeah, Cas was more confident than he'd expected him to be for a million year old virgin, but Dean definitely had experience on him, and he was planning to _use_ it.  He dragged his mouth over his jaw and felt stubble against his tongue, the sensation more pleasant than he would have thought.  

" _Dean,_ " Cas said, urgency straining his voice.  Dean's finger brushed a nipple and Castiel arched under his hands as the hunter's mouth caught his again.  Dean pulled back, looking down over Cas's chest.  There was a dark smudge there, and he pushed the shirt aside to study it.  He glanced up at the former angel, fitting his palm against the Enochian writing and stroking Cas's rib with his thumb.  

"Angel warding?"  he asked, his voice huskier than he intended.  Castiel nodded, distracted, then seemed to think better of it and shook his head.  

"I wrote these protectives on your ribs.  They hide us from angels that would wish us harm."  His hands slid over Dean's chest, tracing the swell of each rib beneath the shifting planes of muscle and skin, his hooded eyes flicking up to meet Dean's, his lips parted as each steady breath left him with a slight tremble.  He pulled back, his already intense gaze searing as he leaned back to shrug out of the dress shirt, dropping it to the ground without any excessive flirtation.  Dean found those motions rather endearing, in a way, a throwback to the angel he had- well, that he liked, anyway.  Love was a strong word to use and was admittedly rather terrifying for him to consider.  He kept his hand resting against the sigils on his side, the warmth of his flesh and the faint beating of his heart making Dean's chest feel tight.  

He sat back on his elbows, watching the fallen angel touch him, reverent touches, running his palms over his chest, his eyes starry and his lower lip drawn into his mouth.  His hips rocked, slow and steady against Dean, his thigh flexing under his left hand.  The heat and friction of the angel's slacks against his jeans was interesting, worth pursuing, but he had something he needed to tend to first.  He reached down, unbuttoning his jeans and slipping his hand into his boxers to adjust himself, the touch of his palm against his heated flesh making him shiver.  He glanced up at Cas just in time to see the angel's jaw go slack as he watched Dean's hand move under his jeans.  He moved to pull his hand free, but Cas caught his wrist in a punishing grip, his eyes seeking Dean's desperately.  

"Did you ever pleasure yourself and think of me?" his voice was rough and pleading and Dean flushed, unprepared and thus unable to think of a good reason to lie.

"Uh... yeah.  Couple times."  Castiel's hand moved from his wrist after giving him a bit of a press, indicating he should keep his hand where it was.  His fingers strayed to the zipper of the battered pair of jeans, dragging it down and watching its progress as more of the dark fabric of Dean's boxers came into view.  He worked his fingers under the waistband of Dean's jeans and tugged at them, and the hunter lifted his hips to oblige him.  With some struggling, the jeans joined the rest of the discarded clothing on the floor.  Silence fell.  Dean pulled his hand from his boxers and reached out to press his palm against the fallen angel's groin, letting the whisper of pleasure that reached his ears send a shiver through him.  

"Dean, I dream now."  Dean popped the button on his slacks and pulled them open.  "I dream of you the way I used to see you, the spark of your soul behind your eyes."  Dean curled his hands around his backside, giving him a squeeze and lifting him up.  "I.. ah." The rushed sound of pleasure went straight to Dean's groin.  Cas was tenting his trousers, his face and chest flushed and his fingers digging into Dean's shoulders.  Dean slid his hands over his ass, shoving his trousers down and leaning up to drag his mouth over his chest.  "Sometimes it's so good, I don't want to wake up."  He paused with his lips hovering over Cas's nipple before flicking his tongue against it.  No soft mouthful like he was used to, but the taste of Cas made up for it, and the rough inhalation from above him.  "Give me something to wake up for, Dean."  His voice was shaky and Dean rubbed his face against his chest, gripping handfuls of his ass and squeezing him.  

"Jesus, Cas.  You have the weirdest pillow talk of anybody I've ever met."  Dean chuckled softly, his voice muffled to his own ears by Castiel's neck.  "Pants off." he ordered, and the angel slid off his lap to comply, slithering out of his slacks.  Dean watched him, looking Cas from head to toe.  The angel was more muscular than he would have thought, built more flexible than Dean, the lean figure of a martial artist.  

Dean reached for him, wrapping his hands around the backs of his hips, gripping his ass again and pulling him forward.  He looked up the lean line of Castiel's torso, hands framing slim hips.  He wet his lips and looked forward, his thumbs coming in to frame the inside of his hipbones and stroke into the hollows, his mouth pressing to the dip beneath his navel and his tongue flicking out to tease the waistband of his boxers, tasting warm skin.  The scent of Cas, warm and human and _male_ should not have turned Dean, a straight dude, on as much as it did, but he had decided not to think about, and would worry about having his gay freakout later.  

Cas reached down and gripped his hair, his blue eyes bright and glazed over with  arousal.  His other hand stroked down his jaw and neck, and Dean took the reverent touch as encouragement, and hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband of Cas's boxers and dragged them down.  The fallen angel shivered above him, his touch soft against Dean's skin even as his fingers twitched, in a subconscious attempt to pull his mouth to his cock.  Dean pressed his thumbs into the hollows of his hipbones to hold him still and took a deep breath.  

" _Please_ , Dean."  The agonized whisper from above him made him lift his chin, and Castiel's expression was eager, shy, but yet still demanding.  Dean gave a soft exhaled laugh and slid a hand to the base of the straining shaft, giving it a slow stroke that made Castiel's fingers twitch and his voice peak in a high-pitched (for him) yelp.  It wasn't that strange to be touching another dude's dick, he supposed.  It was heavy in his hand, soft skin flushed a deep pink towards the tip where the slit was slick with pre-come.  He wasn't sure if he wanted to put his mouth on it, but Castiel's utterly wrecked expression when a ghost of a breath caressed it got to him.  

Gay freakout _later_ , he told himself firmly before leaning forward and engulfing the head in his mouth.  The noise Cas made was less than human, a rough keening whine as he slowly rocked his hips forward, the heavy flesh twitching against Dean's tongue.  He thought back to the most glorious blow jobs he'd had in the past and took a breath through his nose before leaning in and sucking him deeper into his mouth.  His jaw stretched as he pulled back, closing his eyes and lapping at the flesh moving over his tongue.  As it slipped from his mouth, his tongue swirled quickly around the head, licking over the slit as his lips smoothed along the shaft.  

Cas was losing his fucking mind, and Dean felt immense smugness about it.  His technique wasn't the greatest; he needed practice (fucking Dean Winchester was considering practicing blowing dudes, wonders will never cease) and he could tell that he probably wouldn't be able to get Cas there just from his mouth.  His jaw was starting to ache already, even though every noise, every twitch of Cas's fingers in his hair was a testament to just how much fun this sort of thing could be.  He pulled back slowly, letting his tongue drag over the head as he tightened his fist around the base.  

He wet his lips with his tongue, looking up at Cas, who looked like he was on the verge of discovering God.  "You like that?"  Cas nodded wordlessly, tugging Dean's hair with a softly pleading sound.  

"Don't tease me, Dean."  he grated once he'd caught his breath.  Dean gave him a slow stroke and a coy look, a grin growing on his face.  

"No?"  Cas looked tortured and desperate and pleading and fucking _hot_ and Dean ignored the essential weirdness of the situation in favor of licking one of the tempting hollows in front of his hipbones again.  "Get down here."  he murmured against soft skin, tugging Cas forward and shoving him to the bed.  Cas bounced against the mattress and Dean draped himself over him, pulling the blankets over and burying his face against his neck, his teeth catching his shoulder in a gentle bite then soothing the mark with his tongue when Castiel gasped with rushed abandon and clawed at his back.  

"Dean!  I want to have intercourse with you."  He writhed under Dean.  "I want to feel the body that I have made become unmade under me."  Dean shivered, then pulled back, nodding, of _course_ he wanted Cas to... wait, what?

"You... _under_ you?  You mean like, you'd be fucking me?"  Castiel stroked his hands through his hair and the faintly puzzled expression on his face worried Dean. 


	9. This I Know, I Never Said We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a minor panic attack then sucks it up. oh ho ho see what I did thar

"Yes," came the simple response.  "I want to feel the whole of your creation as I once did."  Dean couldn't help a snicker. 'Whole of his creation' indeed.  More like hole of- yeah okay, gay freakout _now_ and suddenly being near Cas was too much.  It all hit him, all came crashing down around him that he was nearly _naked_ and Cas was _very_ naked and they were rolling around in a bed with dicks nearly touching.  He rolled off of him, quicker than he had meant to, and off the edge of the bed, dropping his feet to the floor and his head to his hands.  

"Shit.  Shit shit shit shit _shit._ " he whimpered to himself, fingers knotting in his own hair, his eyes squeezing shut as his vision reeled.  This wasn't fucking him, John Winchester's eldest fucking son, his father raised him to be a man, and he fucking _loved_ women.  He was a fuckin' pussy magnet.  No-fuckin-body was going to find him being _fucking_ gay with a fallen fucking angel.  Any wood he had been sporting had wilted abruptly as he felt the sharp seeing-not-seeing of a panic attack rush into his consciousness.  He opened his eyes and everything was adrenaline clear and all he wanted was to get in the fuckin' car and _drive,_ forever or at least until the gay went away.  

Cas undoubtedly had his usual puzzled expression and a hand touched his shoulder.  "Dean, you're acting... deranged."  He shook off the hand.  " _Dean_."  Dean lifted his head and turned to look at him, his eyes felt wild.  Cas was at least covered with the sheet, but there was a very visible, very obvious expanse of _bare_ _thigh_ that he could see, and despite how appealing the sight was, it made him feel worse.  

"Sorry, I just... I need a minute, okay?"  He settled his head back in his hands and his shoulders slumped.  He was not sure a minute would do it, not with a full-powered gay freakout on his hands.  

"I didn't know that suggesting intercourse would be such a big deal."  he said quietly.  "I haven't tried it with a man, but I have done research and I know the basics of how it would function."  He crept closer, if the shifting of the mattress was any indication.  Fingers traced Dean's back and then Castiel's hands slipped around his ribcage, and his rough chin rested on his shoulder.  "I would never do anything to harm you, Dean."  

"Cas," he said, and he could feel how stiff he felt, how everything felt wrong, how the friendly and even loving touch of his friend was the last thing on the planet he wanted.  "Just... stop, okay?  I need to figure this out."  Obedient to a fault, the hands left his body and Cas moved back.  Dean let his hands scrape down over his forehead and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes.  _Fuck._ "I don't mean that it's something I'll never want."  He straightened his back and turned, facing Castiel.  The angel looked impassively at him and folded his hands in his blanketed lap.  "It's just that I'm not... ready for it now.  It's bad enough that I... sucked your cock."  Dean suppressed a shudder.  It's not that it had been _bad_.  That wasn't the right word.  But he had never had any urge or inclination to do it before, and found himself taking to it _way_ too quickly.  His mouth twisted at the bitter aftertaste of Cas's arousal on his tongue.

"You don't want it with me?" asked Castiel with a casual air.  It was _too_ casual and Dean knew him well enough to catch it.

"Aw, Cas, no.  I mean, yes.  I mean, fuck, man, I don't know."  Dean finished with an air of misery.  "I mean, I want to want it because you do.  But I don't... I mean, I'm not gay.  Dad didn't raise a queer, you know.  Except Sammy."  Digging at his brother, even when he wasn't around, made everything a little better.  

"You wouldn't be gay, Dean.  Just because I have been reduced to the sexual characteristics of my vessel does not make me a man, exactly."  Dean sighed.  

"Cas, that's _exactly_ what it makes you, and I dunno.  I mean... I just don't think I'm into it."  Cas frowned, though not from the statement of disinterest.  

"That's not what I am, Dean.  I have memories of watching your ancestors crawl up out of the mud.  God told me He had plans for them.  I have _been_ to _Hell_.  You are the only human who has been to Hell that is living in the current temporal stream.  Except, of course, me.  And I don't really think of myself as human.  I speak the Dead Languages.  I know..."  Castiel was clearly doing mental math, "thousands of ancient spells.  Summoning rituals.  I have fought monsters that you have never imagined and could not because they are not of your _dimension_."  Trust Cas to get focused on something else, and drag him along with him.  He could feel the tension leaving him, and a _different_ tension seeping in.  A tension from memories of dark and blood and fire and _torture_.  Cas kept speaking, though, his rough tone emphatic, catching him in the eddies of his muted enthusiasm for humanity.  "I have watched your ancestors discover fire.  I watched them fear it and learn from it and then _adapt_ , that spark of human curiosity drawing them to discover _why_ it combusts, and understand how to harness that fire.  Your bloodline, Dean..."  He trailed off and looked away.    

Dean watched him, the last of the stress draining from his body as he let the angel's stories, strange and circuitous and theologically screwy as they were, wash over him and calm him.  This was Cas.  Cas was safe, he wouldn't do anything to intentionally fuck with him (except _that_ of course, and he wasn't sure if Cas really grasped the implications, _human_ implications of what he wanted from Dean) and had in fact done pretty much everything he could to protect him from things fucking with him. 

"Thanks." He found himself blurting the gratitude without any prior plan; Castiel shut his mouth and stared.  "For being that guy who always makes things better, even if you do it in the worst possible way."  He stopped talking before his mouth got him in trouble (more trouble) and gave a half-hearted smile.  

"You're welcome, Dean."  He was quiet, again embodying the impassive, serene heavenly creature as he did when he was experiencing some negative emotion that he didn't want to show.  This was 'cold shoulder' from Cas, his blue eyes calm and his expression flatly pleasant.  Dean gave an internal wince and scooted across the bed.  He felt bad, he'd basically freaked out on the guy in the middle of a pretty great makeout session for him, what may well have been his first really good one that ended with something other than Cas getting stabbed.  Yeah, Cas wasn't the one getting stabbed here, Dean's inner voice chimed in with, if anyone was getting stabbed by Cas's 'angel blade' it was _him._ Dean viciously squashed the voice with perhaps a bit more vehemence than he had strictly needed to use.

"C'mon, Cas, don't be like that.  I'm not ready for... _that_ , but that doesn't mean we can't do other stuff.  We can save that for another time."  _That_ got Cas's attention, his flat expression shifting as he nervously cast his eyes everywhere but Dean's, except for a quick flicker.  He finished this excessively shifty moment by looking down at his hands, still folded atop the blanket. 

"Another time," he said carefully.  Dean nodded, reaching over and touching his shoulder.

"Yeah.  I mean, if you're up for it.  I did kinda freak out on you there.  Can't promise it'll be the last time I'll freak out, but if you're up for it..."  Castiel finally did make eye contact, the full force of his not-quite-celestial-anymore intent on Dean and it hit him like a wrecking ball (damn it now that damn song was gonna get stuck in his head, don't think of Miley Cyrus, _don't think of Miley Cyrus_ ) full of inappropriately timed lust.  

"I understand why you did.  Sexual contact between men is peculiar.  My father intended it to be pleasurable, but there is preparation to do before it can become comfortable.  Lubrication can be messy, and um.  You have to concentrate on relaxing the muscles involved."  Something in his expression made Dean's eyebrows creep up his forehead.  Cas's gaze flickered away and he stared studiously at the wall.  Dean saw his face flush and it felt like his eyebrows were trying to crawl into his hairline.

"Have you been fuckin' dudes?"  Castiel exploded in surprise, twisting to stare at him, shaking his head and the shock of hair that had been pushed oddly from his face by their earlier shenanigans flopped back to his forehead.  It was getting long, Dean observed before the topic at hand demanded his attention again.  "No, then.  You did _something_ though."  Cas's face went darker and he looked at his lap.

"I tried it.  With my fingers, in the shower.  It's... pleasurable." he admitted, looking earnestly at Dean.  "I wanted to try it, to make sure that it wasn't painful before I breached the subject with you."  Dean couldn't raise his eyebrows any further so he just held the expression and flapped a hand around.  His best friend was telling him about his masturbatory shower scenes and damn it, his groin was way too interested in the visual of Castiel, water dripping down his back, his fingers buried deep in the cleft of his ass, Dean's name on his lips as he came white streaks all over the glass wall.

Dean's face flushed and he looked away.  "Good, hunh?"  He smirked, trying to turn that uncomfortable arousal onto Cas.  _He_ was the one affected, not Dean.  Dean wasn't the gay one here.  "Were you thinkin' of me?"  He slipped closer, catching Castiel's gaze and holding it.  "Thinking of me while your fingers were inside?"  Castiel squirmed and Dean found the hand gripping the blanket in his lap and tangled his fingers with his, and before he knew it his other hand was behind Castiel's neck, tugging him forward into another kiss, this one messier than the last, open-mouthed and _filthy_ , and suddenly he needed- well he didn't really know _what_ he needed other than getting off, his erection pressed between their torsos, Cas hard against his belly as they landed on the bed.  

Dean fought to push Cas back to the surface of the bed, but the other man wouldn't budge, keeping the two of them on their sides.  He let go of Dean's hand and suddenly his hand wasn't just on his stomach, it was _in_ his _boxers_ and his dry, soft fingers were stroking, pulling, _squeezing_ and Dean shuddered, and _yeah_ he was okay with _all of this_ and he had had a thing for the angel since day fucking _one,_ since he blew the doors open on that stupid barn and strode into Dean's life, the first time he saw those fiercely blue eyes, that messy hair, that stupid rumpled suit and that _fucking_ backwards tie.  He skimmed a hand down Cas's chest, his fingers seeking out his nipple and tweaking it before tracing the sigils (needed to get him the anti-possession tattoo, maybe they'd do that tomorrow)  and stroking down over his belly, a thin layer of softness over a solid core.  Cas was warm and weighty and _human_ against him, squirming and lifting a leg over his hip.  Cas whined as soon as Dean made contact with his shaft, the desperation echoing into his open mouth, and Dean licked into that sound and echoed it.

He gave a little bit of resistance when Cas straightened suddenly and dragged his boxers down over his legs, stiffening.  He wasn't sure where they were going with this.  He knew Cas had condoms, the kind Dean liked, pre-lubed and just a little bit ribbed (for her pleasure, and who knew, maybe his too), in a box somewhere that held half a dozen.  Unless Cas had been _busy_ , there would be plenty for their purposes.  But Cas just settled down next to him again, slotting his body against his, canting his hips forward and grinding against him, his fingers coming down to stroke him again, all the while grinding the heated spire of his own flesh against his hip.  Dean shuddered, and his pride wouldn't let him go without another attempt, and he pulled slightly away from Cas, meeting his eyes briefly then flushing as he moved his mouth down the center of his chest, stroking his skin with his tongue and settling with Castiel's knee propped against his shoulder. 

This time he wasn't going to fuck around, he was going to do it.  He wrapped his fingers around the base, burying his face in the warm crease of Cas's thigh, placing a gentle bite to the tendon there, which got him a high pitched yelp.  He was going to get Cas off with his mouth.  He licked a long stripe up the underside of the dick in his hand, encircling the head with his lips and pulled him as deep as he could without gagging.  Castiel's hands plunged into his close-cropped hair and held him there, his hips stuttering forward in pleasure and Dean lapped against the underside and sucked.  Maybe Dean had never had a good blowjob in his life, at least he'd never made sounds like Cas made, wrecked and desperate, nearly sounding like he was being tortured within an inch of his life.  Some of it was probably Enochian, Dean recognized the rough syllables, some of them repeated in between worshipful recitations of his name as Castiel breathed out a psalm of Dean Winchester to the night.  

Dean pressed a hand to the front of Cas's hip and bobbed his head, taking him as deep as he could each time, keeping his tongue flat against the underside.  He pulled back, tonguing the frenulum and looking up the arched line of Castiel's torso, at the heaving chest and he slid his hand up to cover his heart with his and Cas's fingers found his and _gripped_ , a choked sound coming from him as he leaned in to give the flushed shaft another hard suck.  He felt it twitch against his tongue and Cas gave a whispered "Oh," of surprise, and suddenly Dean's mouth was full of spurts of salty slickness, his tongue covered the bitter coating of Cas's release, his thighs clamping against his shoulders and both hands fisted tight, one in his hair and the other on his hand as he trembled through his climax.  Dean kept him shaking, slowing his pace but not stopping, letting every drop of Castiel fill his mouth.  He didn't swallow, and he could feel wet dribbles of saliva and semen on his chin.  He had some notion that he would spit, somewhere, but in the end swallowing proved simply to be more practical.  He swallowed twice, his throat prickling at the taste and he let the softening shaft slip from his mouth.  Cas released his hair and tugged him, trying to pull him out from beneath the blankets.  

"Dean," he sounded soft, unlike his usual commanding self, dazed and pleased instead of agitated or stoic.  Dean slid up, wiping his mouth on his hand and he could feel shame threatening to overwhelm him.  He wasn't supposed to be a cocksucker.  He wasn't supposed to be gay.  But Cas trailed his hand down and Dean jolted as he touched him, his shaft achingly hard and leaking if the way Cas's fingers slipped against him were any indication.  It wouldn't take much to get him there, and he tried not to think of how much sucking off Cas had turned him on, how being buried in the smell of him, the taste of his skin and his pleasure on his tongue had been more erotic than anything he'd felt with a woman.  Because he wasn't gay.   

Cas had panted limply in his arms for a few minutes, pressing trembling lazy kisses to his lips, seeming not to care that he was tasting both Dean's mouth and his own come.  The backs of the fingers of one hand traced the dark tattoo on Dean's skin, his knuckles tracing the star and the flames that surrounded it.  Dean didn't want to talk, and Cas didn't, his eyes watching the progress of his fingers more than Dean's face.  His other hand was beneath the blanket, stroking Dean's cock with slow, trembling fingers.  He returned Cas's kisses until he couldn't focus on his mouth properly anymore, the pleasure growing too great, and Cas nuzzled down his throat to his clavicle, his soft mouth punctuating his progress by a gentle nip here and there.  

Dean arched his back a little as Cas's mouth stroked over his sternum, his tongue tracing his lowermost rib as he burrowed beneath the blankets, throwing them about and placing himself comfortably  between Dean's thighs.  His mouth buried in the curls at the base of Dean's cock, his tongue lapping at his balls slowly.  He dragged his cheek up his shaft and Dean winced at the feel of rough stubble against sensitive skin.  And then he was engulfed in soft heat, Cas's plush lips holding him tightly between them as he mimicked Dean's motions.  Cas had clearly never done this, but he was so eager, so intent on tasting everything Dean had to give.  Cas performed the blowjob with such single-minded dedication and oral ferocity that Dean was dragged, pushed towards his climax, barely aware of of how he got there, only aware that suddenly he was _there,_ and his mind melted, whited out with pleasure as he gripped Cas's hair and pumped his release into his mouth, arching high and giving a ragged, desperate cry that he'd never admit to in any conversation.  

Afterwards, Cas dragged himself out of the blankets, damp with sweat and pushed his face against Dean's shoulder, sighing in utter contentment.  Dean did _not_ cuddle, his arms were wrapped around Castiel to keep him close, to keep him in the present, to keep the angel from flitting away, even though he knew he couldn't.  His eyes studied Cas's face as it softened in sleep.  And the light began to seep through the windows as the mostly-asleep angel surged up and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, mumbling a deep, unashamed 'I love you' into his ear.  Dean couldn't respond, but he nuzzled closer and pressed a kiss to his lips.


	10. Though I've Never Been Through Hell Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SAM KNOWS. Cas goes for a walk.

 

Castiel woke him when the sun was streaming in through east-facing windows, seeming delighted to greet it with a walk or a run or some shit, given the way he was dressed.  He couldn't have been asleep for more than two hours.  Despite being tangled in his sheets and practically _cuddling_ , Dean felt a spike of pure, unadulterated loathing and hatred for him based on one single fact; Cas was a _morning person_.  Dean felt no qualms for kicking him out of bed to go do morning yoga or pray to the goddess of womanly beauty or _whatever_ the fuck he was wanting to do.  Castiel made a perfunctory effort to get Dean out of bed and into the shower with him, but Dean was obstinate and didn't budge.  Two hours wasn't enough when he felt like this, sated and heavy.  Cas had seemed to take it with his usual passiveness, leaving Dean alone to sleep in as long as he wanted.  The last thing Dean heard before sinking back into a dreamless sleep was the front door closing and Cas's goddamn chipper footsteps going down the steps outside.  

 

An hour later, his phone rang and he groaned, pushing himself up and lifting his face from the pillow.  Rolling to the edge of the bed, he found his clothing neatly folded.  Castiel was in possession of soldier like efficiency.  He whisked his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and rolled to his back, flipping it open.  "Yeah, Sammy."  His brother also sounded _way_ too awake, and amused at how Dean's voice grated with sleep.

"Dean?  It's _nine-thirty_.  This is late for you."  Dean sat up, scrubbing his hand over his face and the layer of morning stubble rasped against his fingers.  "How's Cas?"  Dean snorted.  Oh Cas was _great_ , Sammy, he's really developed those cock-sucking skills in the month or so we haven't seen him.  That would go over like a lead balloon, he was sure.

"He's fine.  Y'know, hurtin'.  Still a baby, minus the trenchcoat and the celestial powers."   He chuckled and hoped he sounded convincing.  "I think he's been reading nothing but my copy of Slaughterhouse Five and Cosmo since he got here.  He's gonna blend into humanity so well."  Sam laughed on the other end of the line and Dean smiled at the sound.  He sounded good, healthy.  "What's up?"

Sam sounded too casual.  "Just checking in."  Dean knew his brother too well to fall for that casual shit, so he just _waited_.   When the silence stretched on, he prompted him.

" _Sammy_.  Come on, don't do that.  What did you find?  What's up?"  Sam was quiet for a bit longer, long enough that Dean was starting to get nervous.  "Sam!"

"Dean, do you... I mean, you know Cas _likes_ you, right?"  It was like being dipped in ice water, the feeling that swamped him.  He let the indignant feeling wrap around him and reacted without thinking.  

"Of course he likes me.  We're _friends_ , Sam, that's how friends work."  Sam's exhalation was loud on the other end of the phone.

"Don't be stupid, Dean.  You know what I mean.  He practically _pines_ for you.  He wants to marry you and have little nephilim, or something."  Dean grunted into the phone and considered hitting Sam in the face hard enough to send him back to fourth grade sex ed if he thought there was a snowball's chance in hell of _that_ happening.  "And you don't exactly _discourage_ it.  I mean, you look at him almost as much and-"  That Dean couldn't let stand and he started to protest loudly, cutting Sam off before he could continue.

"Shut up, Sam, you don't know-"  Sam talked over him with that tone of voice that made him listen, every goddamn time, and he hated him for it.

"- _AND_ I wanted you to know that it's okay.  I mean, if anything happened with you guys.  I'd... I'd be happy for you."  Sam went quiet and Dean was still as the grave.  Goddamn it, why did Sammy want to have this conversation _now_ , when he was bareass naked and still covered in _substances_ that were sticky reminders that Sam _knew_ and that he was exactly goddamn right about what he'd been doing.  "You deserve to be happy.  I know you don't think so, but-"

"You done?" he said, the hard edge to his voice the sort of thing he used when Sam had crossed a line.  Because he had, he really had crossed a line and the worst part about it was that he was _absolutely right_ to be suspicious of Dean, he had snuck off in the middle of the night for a booty call with an _angel_.  

"Yeah, Dean.  I'm done."  Sam had that relenting weariness and dropped it for the time being.  "I also wanted to let you know there was some weird stuff going on in your area.  You're in Nebraska, right?"  Dean grunted affirmation.

"Yeah, Cas said a priest was turned inside out by witches  Maybe."  He fumbled at the neatly folded clothes and got them into his arm, standing and starting towards the small bathroom.  "He seems to think it's not a coven though, but he doesn't know what it is.  We talked about it last night.  When I got here."  He hoped that was a valid excuse for the time he'd spent _not_ hunting.  Light illuminated the restroom as he turned it on and dumped his clothes on the counter.  "Why, you got something?"

Sam exhaled into the phone.  "I don't know.  There's some demon sign in the area, weather patterns getting a bit weird up there.  It makes sense, if it _is_ a coven.  They'd be calling demons to them.  Just... be careful.  You've got the knife, right?"  Dean nodded and stepped out into the main room, bending to retrieve the knife from under the mattress where he'd stashed it the previous night.  Before he'd let Cas get him naked and roll around in fuckin' sin.  When he straightened, Cas was just walking in, his shoes tapping on the hardwood as he moved around the square of carpet to kick off his shoes.  He padded towards Dean, bare feet whispering against hardwood, making eye contact with him and giving a brief smile.  Dean rested his finger on his lip to hush his greeting and Cas shut his mouth quickly, but still stepped to close to his personal space, his chilled fingers dragging down Dean's bare ribcage slowly, biting his lower lip as he looked at Dean through dark lashes.  It was altogether provocative and _filthy_ and Dean shivered and shook his head at Cas, moving back to arms length.  

"Cas just got back from whatever morning goddess ritual you guys seem obsessed by.  We're gonna go check out the church later, I think."  He made eye contact with the fallen angel, who was looking away from him, but met his green eyes and pulled his lower lip into his mouth as soon as he felt Dean's gaze on him.  Goddamn, one _fucking_ night of sex and suddenly he was a seductive little fucker and Dean found himself staring at his lower lip as it was slowly released, moist and swollen from the bite Cas had given it.  Memories of the previous night hit him and he could feel his arousal surging through him.  Castiel's fingers wrapped around the base of him and he was hard in what seemed like _seconds_.

"Yeah, okay.  I'll let you go.  Dean?"  Cas leaned in and pressed a kiss to his throat, followed by a sharp nip that made Dean struggle to stifle a gasp.  With Ruby's knife still in hand, he was unable to defend himself from his amorous companion as those chilled fingers against warm flesh pulled the same unfair tricks as the night before.  

"Yeah, Sammy," he said and he felt like the edge of arousal that laced his voice was _loud_ and _clear_ , and he was _sure_ that Sam had heard it and _knew_ he had been fucking around with Cas all night long and he knew his stupid moose-faced brother was _judging_ him silently.  Maybe not so silently.

"Be careful."  Sam was serious.  "It's not much but with both of you there, I mean... Cas is pretty much Heaven _and_ Hell's Most Wanted, and you're not much better off."  Dean tried to think through the haze of Castiel's tongue on his neck and the shift of his body, fully clothed against Dean's nudity and his fingers slipping against his length and _goddamn it_ if that wasn't a kink of his to be pressed up against somebody with no care for what Dean was doing _,_ and fuckin' Cas was giving him wood while he was on the phone with his _brother_ who _knew_ but Dean didn't care and he tossed the knife to the bed to tangle his fingers in soft hair.

"Yeah, I know, Sam.  Take care of Kevin."  Get the fuck off the phone, Sam, his brain demanded with what little attention it had left.  

"I will."  As Dean pulled the phone away from his ear, he could hear Sam shout, "Use _protection_!" and he took great pleasure in snapping the phone shut as hard as he could.  

And then he was on the bed, narrowly missing getting an accidental emergency appendectomy by Ruby's knife.  He gripped the handle, tossing it away from himself to clatter on the floor.  Cas was on his knees, and he _liked_ that, seeing him cozied up between his thighs fully dressed and Cas's mouth was _on him_ , barely a hint of the nervous energy from the previous night as he swallowed him down, eking sounds from Dean that he didn't know he was capable of making.  It was intense, it was _hot_ , better than the night before and for a while Dean forgot entirely that he was going to take a shower, that they had a case to get to, that he had anything else to do but roll around in sweaty, sex-stained sheets with Cas until his body stopped responding so _promptly_ to the other man's efforts.  Castiel's hands groped at him, clawing the insides of his thighs and his body tensed, muscles jumping at the combination of hot pain and _searing_ pleasure, the plush lips surrounding him releasing for a moment to lip against the crease in his thigh.  "Dean," Another swipe of Cas's tongue against his balls had him making a useless whine instead of responding as he'd intended.  "Will you.. fuck me?"  The request coming so quickly on the heels of his panic-inducing statement from the previous night, suggesting that maybe Cas was a switch and not just a subby-seeming top, that maybe Dean wouldn't quite have to get over _everything he'd ever been taught_ to round the bases to home... well, he wasn't really sure what exactly they were playing at or if it'd be long-term, but everything in him screamed _YES_ and he nodded wordlessly.  

He could feel his face making a stunned, cow-like expression, eyes wide and mouth slack.  He was a _gentleman_ though so he croaked a feeble, "You sure?"  And Cas's fingers slid up his arms, lifting them level with his head and pinning his wrists playfully as his heated cock rubbed against Dean's through the layers of fabric.

He was straddling him, his mouth at the crook of his neck, trailing kisses behind his ear, whispering.  "I'm sure.  I want to feel you inside me, Dean.  You've got such a pretty dick... I want to feel you blow your load inside me and I wanna feel your hot spunk dripping out of my gaping hole,"  Dark amusement stained the angel's voice and Dean pulled away from the kisses with a jerk.  Something was twisting in his stomach, recognition suddenly flaring in his brain as he tried to push Castiel away from him.  

"No, no, _fuck_ , _Cas_!" 

The arousal drained out of him faster than he could have _imagined_ and he surged up to fight as the angel gripped his wrists with inhuman strength and forced him back onto the mattress.  Blue eyes glittering with hard mirth, flickering to venomous black, demonic possession filling the sclera with glossy ink.  A wide, uncharacteristic smile split his face in a sliver of utter madness, his nose wrinkling from the force of it.  Of fucking _course_ they'd found him.  Dean should have dragged him out and gotten the anti-possession symbol tattooed on him the _second_ he'd realized the angel was fully human.  They could have had him for _weeks_.  Guilt flared in him, and fear, bucking up to try to force the other man off of him.  

"Poor Cas.  With a meatsuit like this, he could have _anyone_ and instead he falls in love with _you_."  The demon laughed, the cruel sound dragging out of him, held inside of the familiar voice making his heart twist.  "You, the stupid sack of shit who started the apocalypse.  The guy with a frequent flyer program for soul trades."  Dean glared up at the demon, and that was _not_ fucking tears in his eyes, he didn't fucking _cry_ for demons.  The monster continued, glittering black eyes slitting down to nearly nothing as his smile stretched wide again, impossibly wide.  "You're already half a demon, Dean.  You couldn't save your brother and you won't save your pretty boy angel fucktoy.  You're not even the _smart_ one."   The demon ground against him and with a surge of misery he felt the erection pressing against his belly.  He wasn't hard, not anymore, and the feeling of the erection against him made him _sick._ Struggling against the demon's hold on him, his jaw clenched, he glared up with fury, spitting each verse as he recited the exorcism.  He knew he wouldn't get the whole thing out, but he had to _try_.  

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," and the demon hissed, Castiel's face contorting in pain as the demon struggled to dig its claws into the soul it had corrupted.  Did angels even have souls?  Dean growled.  "Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii,omnis legio-" and that was as far as he got before Cas's hands closed around his throat, cutting off his air supply and clamping down on his neck.  He bucked, struggled as his vision started to black out from the crushing grip, far stronger than any human grip, twisted and writhing in a way that Castiel had never been for as long as Dean had known him.  Cas was as unyeilding as cold steel, but this creature was like a bag full of snakes, impossibly strong and unsettlingly _squirmy._

"Calm down, Winchester.  I'm here to offer you a deal on behalf of our new Queen."  The demon hissed against his ear as he fought to keep conscious.  A slow lick against his earlobe made him twitch and try to jerk his head away.  Dean gripped the wrists holding him, and they were feverish, corded tendons standing out against flushed skin, but he stopped moving, a silent signal that he would listen.  The demon let up ever so slightly and sweet air rushed into Dean's lungs.  "The life of your angel for you."

Dean's anger flared up and he bucked up.  "No!  You get out of him, you black-eyed _son of a bitch_!"  His air was cut off again as the Cas demon clamped down on his airways again.    

"Dean, Dean, Dean.  If you don't calm down, you're going to hurt yourself."  He stroked his face, his eyes flickering back to the bright, lovely blue and he settled down against Dean's chest.  "Or better yet, I'm going to hurt you."  Dean snarled noiselessly, his throat clicking against the hold the demon had on him.  "I know how you work, Winchester.  You want to get rid of me, but you _can't_.  Not without harming your precious _angel_.  I avoided your devil's traps.  You're unarmed, I'm between you and your knife.  I know you could probably get the upper hand and tear me apart, but if you do... Poor little Castiel won't have any chance of getting back his grace, will he?  Not dead, not with his blood on your hands as well as all of his grace."  The demon leaned back, laughing and grinding his ass against Dean's lap.  "And his come, too, can't forget about that.  Who knew that Dean Winchester would so willingly go gay?  And you can't kill him now.  You've only just started fucking him.  You need another night with him before you dump his ass, don't you?  Isn't that the pattern?"  Dean felt his gut twist but hid it in righteous anger.  Couldn't let the demons actually get to you, cause then they'd get inside of you and you'd end up vulnerable to them.  

"So face it, pretty boy.  You're _helpless_ and it's only a matter of time until Abaddon arrives."  Dean fought against the hold, his eyes squinting shut against the disarming blue eyes, his fists battering against the man above him until he lost consciousness, sinking into a dream full of black eyes and horrid laughter.

 


End file.
